Non-classifiable
The office is a windowless gray cell. The vice-principal across the desk from me says, "A one-week suspension is automatic."
The heavy fullback went down right on top of him. I heard this terrifying scream come out of Kurt. Kurt was not usually a screamer. I'd never heard him utter the slightest whimper of pain, ever. He was as tough as they come.
A whistle blew. The ball had missed the net. Nobody knew what I knew. I was over the rickety fence and running onto the field. The referee pulled the Fairview goon off of Kurt, but Kurt was still curled over on the grass.
Coach Kenner yelled at me to get off the field. He and Jason both came chasing after me. They thought I'd lost my mind. A kid falls down in a soccer game, big deal. But I knew better.
"Do you want Mrs. Pringle gone forever, her reputation tarnished? She'd never get another job if she's charged with theft. She'll end up with no money, no house, stuffing old newspapers into her boots to keep her feet warm in the winter!" Robyn's voice rose. She sniffed.
I rolled my eyes. "Robyn, get a grip! No one's talking about a crime, here."
"How did you know? Maybe someone took that book and tried to sell it," Robyn retorted.
"And how would a person sell something like that, Robyn? A garage sale?" I shook my head.
"There's a shooter around here," Skip said in my ear. His voice was choked. It was the first time I'd ever heard Skip sound so frightened. Usually he was so confident, so sunny. Nothing fazed him. "Let's get outta here," he urged.
